


not a good look on you, Hermione

by caandle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Relationships, F/M, Fluff, Healer Hermione Granger, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Sort Of, ron is not a villain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-07-01 10:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15772122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caandle/pseuds/caandle
Summary: When Ron accidentally breaks Hermione's heart, she starts making a lot of mistakes. Almost losing her job and getting embarrassingly plastered on Christmas night are just the first of many.Draco Malfoy, however, turns out not to be one.





	1. headlines

It burns the back of her throat as she knocks the firewhiskey back and she mulls how adequate the name is with an empty, unflattering snort. Hermione drags her finger around the rim of the glass, the epitome of the cliché lonely women alone at the bar, drinking away her sorrows. War heroine Hermione Granger alone in the middle of a dingy wizarding pub on Christmas night – a headline already begging to be on the front page of any of the various gossip magazines that had been trying to document and pick apart her life since after the War.

She's scowling when she waves to the bartender who refills her glass, and then again when she quickly inhales it. The burning sensation dulls the more she drinks, turning into a pleasant warmth pooling in her belly. Her body relaxes as the alcohol courses through her, further numbing the rage curled up in the back of her mind.

She's furious.

And can't do anything about it.

They aren't together – never had been, if she was honest – but it still  _hurt_. It hurt more than she thought it should've, really, considering what she had been through throughout her childhood. All those years of fighting against Voldemort, all the soul-crushing fear, the  _hiding._ The mourning. Hermione quickly took another swing of firewhiskey, welcoming the feeling of it rushing down her throat. Anything to distract her from  _that_ spiral.

That particular road was difficult to get out of sober, let alone drunk.

She can still see the scene as if had been burned to the backs of her eyelids – Ron, grinning like an idiot (the way she loved), hand resting on the back of a woman who she didn't recognise. Introducing her to the Weasley family, who was smiling at her and giving her within the usual, warm Weasley welcome. A sight difficult to swallow. She felt pathetic, looking in through the window of the Burrow, her heart aching. The present in her hands fell, landing on the ground with a resounding  _crack,_ although not as loud as the sound of her apparating away in her haste. To get away.

Although nobody has seen her, they must've heard her. She can already see what happened after she escaped – Harry rushing out with hand in hand, Arthur and the rest of the Weasley children quickly following to investigate. Old war habits die hard. The bartender refills her glass with magic and it's gone just as quick. Now, as she thinks on it, drunk and nursing her heart as much as she is her alcohol, Hermione is grateful she had been late. She wouldn't know what she would've done if she had arrived when she was supposed to. Already being in the house, soaking in the comfort and warmth that naturally exudes from the Weasleys', to having her heart broken by Ron so publicly. She shudders at the thought. Better alone than in front of Harry, or –  _Merlin forbid_ , Molly Weasley.

In front of Ron.

Hermione motions to the bartender, ready to further drink herself into her sorrows and drown in it. He only shakes his head, prying the glass from her hands, ignoring her slurred protests.

_War heroine HERMIONE GRANGER being CUT OFF in a dingy wizarding pub on CHRISTMAS Night –Exclusive pictures and Intel._

Rita Skeeter would be shaking with excitement to see her right now, Hermione was certain of it. The rage simmers down, cooling and transforming into a sense of longing and helplessness that slithers its way around her heart. The rage was never hers to have – she had no right to be angry over something that never really existed in the first place. Hermione felt like a fool. She always put herself to a higher standard, that she was smarter than  _this._ The anger returns, now, but for a different reason entirely.

She was Hermione Granger and she would  _not_ be bested by a broken heart. She'd been through too much, seen too much, and  _felt_ too much to let herself spiral down. Although, she realised, it was a little too late about that considering the alcohol flowing through her veins. At least she hasn't cried yet. Regardless, she would let it bother her no more. Tonight, she'd use alcohol to flush away her misery and tomorrow, she would be as if nothing had happened, armed with multiple Sober Up potions and beauty charms. She could do it.

Someone slides into the stool next to her, shoulders lightly brushing against hers, as they get the bartenders attention. Hermione doesn't glance at whoever is, and continues to stare blankly at her empty hands.

"You look sloshed, Granger." The voice next to her drawls, the words slightly dragging at her name. Hermione tenses, recognising the voice immediately despite her inebriated state and how many years since she'd last heard it.  
"Malfoy."

"The Golden Girl remembers me. I'm honoured." Hermione twists, pointed glare and insulting retorts at the ready when she falters at the sight of him. Malfoy looks like he hasn't slept in days with the dark circles protruding under his bloodshot eyes. His skin was unhealthily pale, drawn, and gaunt. He looks haunted. Worse than he looked four years ago, fresh out of Azkaban for his trial. "What," Malfoy smirks but it's only a shell of what it used to be, "struck speechless by handsome looks?" He takes a swing of his firewhiskey, eyes cold and dead.

"You wish, Malfoy." is all she can get out, internally wincing at the pronounced slur to her words.

"Definitely sloshed, then." Malfoy looks rather pissed himself and the glass in his hand is clearly not his first – which, she assumes, is the only reason that he's talking to her.

The alcohol in her system is certainly the only reason why she's responding.

"S-Sod off you  _wanker_."  
He ignores her. "Now, why would the Golden Girl, the one and only Hermione Granger, part of the infamous trio be drunk and alone at a pub? On Christmas, might I add."

"Mind your... your own business  _Malfoy_." It takes her an embarrassing amount of time to spit it out, her head fuzzy and clouded.  _Merlin_ , if she remembered any of this in the morning, she'd never live it down.

A grimy hand slams down on the counter between them. An uncomfortably warm body is pressed against her side, reeking of booze and body odour. "Trouble, pretty lady?" Hermione looks up, startled, and cringes. Cracked, yellow teeth grin at her, breath reeking impossibly more so, as beady eyes look at her lecherously. The sight – and smell – makes her shudder, hand fumbling for her wand.  _Too slow, get off me, too slow, get off me._

Her limbs are slow and sluggish, which amplifies the panic and disgust rising in her. Just as her fingers curl around her wand, the body is pushed off her roughly. "Bugger off, you bloody pervert." Malfoy's tone is low and dangerous, a warning, but the man ignores it.

"You wannnna fuckin' go kid?" The wizard starts, puffing up his chest, face going redder. Hermione can only stare, shocked, as Malfoy presses the tip of his wand into the man's thick neck in one solid, smooth motion. "I said," Malfoy growls, " _bugger off_."  
The creep looks like he's about to respond, but thinks better of it, pushing Malfoy's wand away and stalking off grumbling.

The bartender is watching them cautiously, eyes flickering between them, as Malfoy slides back into his seat. The blond gives him a nod, which seems to settle the man, who wanders off to the other side of the bar. "Uh," Hermione swallows thickly, finally finding her voice, "thanks."

Malfoy looks almost as uncomfortable as she feels, shrugging off her words. "The guy stunk. Was ruining my drink." He supplies and Hermione nods slowly, accepting it. He's silent now and Hermione goes back to watching her hands. A few minutes pass. It's rather awkward now, as she fakes a cough, shifting slightly in her seat. Another headline title flashes through her mind: _HEROINE HERMIONE GRANGER sitting with EX-DEATH EATER DRACO MALFOY at a dingy wizarding pub on Christmas Night!_ She snorts unflatteringly at the thought, garnering the attention of the man next to her. He raises a blonde brow at her and she shrugs as a response. Malfoy takes another swing of his firewhiskey.

"Well," he murmurs as he stands up, "better get going. It's Christmas after all." He eyes her, clearing his throat. "You should get home, too. Bet Potter and Weasley are wondering where you've run off to." Hermione flinches at his words –  _God,_ Harry! He must be worried sick, since she hadn't turned up – and gets up quickly, startling Malfoy. Her head buzzes and her knees grow weak, faltering. A hand is holding her elbow, steadying her, and her skin burns at the contact. He winces but holds on until she's stopped wobbling.

"Er, thanks." She slurs, uncomfortable with thanking Draco Malfoy twice in the same night.

He merely nods stiffly and the awkward feeling creeps back in. Hermione wonders what Ron would say, if he saw her here, plastered and in the company of one of the men he hates the most. She quickly stomps the thought out. She can feel eyes burning into the back of her head and when she turns, beady eyes are watching her. Her muscles tense, getting increasingly uncomfortable about the way the creep from earlier is looking at her. She wants to leave. Hermione goes to do just that when she's startled by an arm snaking around her waist, holding her up. Swallowing a slightly strangled noise in the back of her throat, she briefly struggles, watching Malfoy suspiciously but his grip doesn't lighten. If anything, it tightens. She cranes her neck to look at Malfoy, who's lips are tugging into a frown as he glares at the man. "Damned pervert." He mutters under his breath, so quietly that she has to strain her ears to hear.

Malfoy ignores her attempts to free herself, glancing behind them in the corner of his eye, and tugs her along across the pub. "What are you doing -  _Malfoy_ , let  _go_ off me!" He ignores her, again, and doesn't let go until they're outside in the bitter cold even when she scratches at his arm. She's still protesting, cheeks stinging from the wind, crossing her arms as intimidatingly as she can despite being completely plastered and redder than Weasley's hair. "You -  _you!_ How dare -"

"-He was obviously going to follow you, you daft woman!" Mafoy's frowning at her irritably as he rubs the spot she had clawed.

 _Oh._ She blinks rapidly, "Oh. I see. Uh..." He raises a hand to interrupt her and she's even more grateful now that she doesn't have to apologise to him for the  _third time tonight_. The entire scene is comical, honestly, and who knows what her friends would say if they saw her right now. With Draco Malfoy.

They stare at each other awkwardly and Hermione suddenly wants to crawl into a hole and lie in it. Gosh, she's never been more  _embarrassed_  in her life. "Right," she clears her throat, "well I'm just gonna... get going, then." Malfoy doesn't say anything and he's still bloody staring at her, so she moves to apparate when a warm hand tugs at her elbow.

" _What_?" She twists, voice a little shrill. What on earth does he want  _now_?

"Never drink Granger. It makes you into a bloody idiot." He sneers at her, grip tightening. Hermione bristles, cheeks flaring up a furious red. " _What?!"_  
He rolls his eyes, "Where do you live?" Hermione opens her mouth and then closes it, before opening it again like a gaping fish.

"Excuse me?" She splutters out.

Malfoy's getting more irritated by the second and her temper flares at his scowl. "You can barely stand, let alone apparate by yourself. You'll splinch yourself and I'd rather not have to explain to Weasley why his girlfriend lost her arm."  
Her temper dies immediately at that, eyes turning downcast as she mutters " _I'm not his girlfriend"_ bitterly before she can hold her tongue. Malfoy watches her for a couple of seconds, taking in her inebriated swaying and dejected slump. Something flashes behind his eyes.

"Where do you live?" He repeats. Hermione's too tired to argue even though it's against her better judgment to tell  _Draco Malfoy_  where she lives –  _Merlin,_ she really was plastered wasn't she – so she murmurs her address. Malfoy only nods stiffly, pulling her closer towards him - and then suddenly her insides are twisting, turning, the world flickering in and out of existence. They've arrived at her small, Muggle flat within seconds and Hermione quickly goes green, leaning over the railing of her porch, gagging. A hand rubs circles against her back and doesn't stop until she's able to recollect herself. Malfoy looks a little green himself but he still holds onto her, keeping her steady and standing. Hermione feels a twinge of shame and stuffs it down before it can grow.

"Didn't expect my night to end like this." He huffs as he watches her fumble with her keys. Hermione silently agrees. Malfoy lets out an irritated sigh and snatches the keys out of her hands, silencing her cry with a sharp look. Once unlocked, his arm is wrapped around her waist again, as the other tosses her keys onto the table next to the door. They stumble to her living room where he dumps her onto the couch. "I wouldn't recommend getting drunk, Granger. It's not a good look on you." Malfoy drags a hand over his face and disappears out the door before she can even think of saying something back.

_EX-DEATH EATER DRACO MALFOY TAKING HERMIONE GRANGER HOME - NEW LOVE BLOSSOMING BETWEEN TWO STAR-CROSSED LOVERS OR PURE LUST?_

Merlin, Rita Skeeter would be drooling.


	2. too observant for your own good, Harry

Her head is screaming when she wakes up. It takes her a few minutes to even attempt to get up, breathing in and out through her nose, concentrating on the action of breathing to distract her from the sharp, throbbing pulse. When Hermione finally gathers to the courage to push herself up, a wave of dizziness takes over and she flops back onto her couch. Her neck is aching – no doubt from sleeping on her couch last night – and rubbing it doesn't help.

She stumbles over to her small bathroom once the wave passes, wincing at her pounding head and trying to ignore the pitiful lurch of her upset stomach. Balancing herself on the edges of her sink with her hand, Hermione fishes for her Sober Up potions in the cabinet when she catches sight of herself in the mirror.

She looks wretched.

There are smudges of black under her eyes from the light coat of mascara she'd had on, her hair is quite literally a frizzy nest (even more so than its usual mess), and her skin is sickly pale. Hermione averts her eyes immediately. A sigh of relief escapes her when her fingers closed around the little vial that she'd be searching for and downs it quickly and then another because the amount of liquid wasn't enough for one dose. The magic of the potion is doing her wonders as the effects are already alleviating her painful migraine and upset stomach. Hermione rests her head against the cool surface of her sink as she waits for the potion to finish its job on the rest of her body. Thank Merlin for magic.

Now that's she's feeling a bit more like herself and less like death, the events of last night crash into her. "Oh gosh." She groans, mortified. She acted like an idiot in front of her old school enemy Draco bloody Malfoy – although they technically are enemies no longer, it's still embarrassing. She'd gotten plastered, made a complete fool of herself, and then he had to drag her home! Hermione would never be able to show her face again.

Although, thinking on it now, it was rather odd. Why had he taken her home? Or warded off that horrid creep? It wasn't like he had any debt to repay her for since she'd certainly not seen him since the – oh. The trial then? Harry and she had only been doing what was right and that had been years ago. He'd even said thank you a few weeks after the trial when they bumped into each other at the Ministry. Hermione couldn't believe her ears when he said it. She frowned, shifting her weight to the other leg. Was that it then? Malfoy just thinking that he still owed her? But that didn't answer for him taking her home – he was Malfoy for heaven's sake! He didn't just take muggle-born witches – especially Mudblood Hermione Granger – and made sure they got home safe. He may have changed but that type of prejudice doesn't get unlearnt over the minor time period of a few years. Hermione groaned in frustration. She had too many questions that would never get answers because she'd never see him again. It was probably best to not know, really. Finding them out would mean she'd have to see him again and that was the last thing she wanted.

A series of loud knocking interrupts her pity party and she scrambles up. "Er, just a minute!" She calls out, pulling her wand out of the back pocket of her jeans, waving it in front of her face to get rid of her smeared makeup. She dumps the empty potion bottles into her bin as she passes the kitchen on her way to the living room. Who on earth is knocking at her door at – she glances at the muggle clock hanging on her wall – at seven in the morning? The knocking hasn't stopped and its rather irritating the slight ache in her head. "Yes, yes, I'm coming! Gosh – Harry?"

Standing in her doorway is a rather disheveled looking Harry, whose green eyes flood with relief at the sight of her. "There you are Hermione! Thank Merlin, I was just about to blast down the door."  
"It's good that you didn't. Is something wrong?"

"You didn't show up at the Burrow last night," Harry starts, taking in her frazzled appearance with a small frown, "so I was worried. Er, we all were. I would've checked on you last night, but well..." Harry rubs his neck, looking awfully guilty.

"Oh, Harry, I'm fine." She shoots a smile, deciding not to mention the rather obvious love bites littering his throat, "I was just feeling a little ill, you see. I forgot to send an owl. Sorry." Hermione lies smoothly, picking at the waistband of her jeans. Guilt springs up when Harry grins down at her.  
"Quite alright, 'Mione. You do look a little pale, so it's probably best that you stayed home."

"You should take a look in the mirror," Hermione shoots him a sly look, "because you look rather worse for wear yourself." His cheeks tinge pink and his hand snaps up to cover his neck. Hermione only laughs, moving aside to let him in.

"It's too bad you missed the party Hermione," Harry tells her as he hangs his coat up on one of the hooks, "it was lively with everyone there. Just as it used to be with -" He falters, before collecting himself. "Luna's taken over the Quibbler, she told us last night. And I'm pretty sure Neville is planning to propose but I couldn't get it out of him just yet."

"Oh, that's fantastic! Neville and Luna make such a sweet couple." Hermione responds as they move into her kitchen. Harry sits at the counter while she busies herself with making tea. He thanks her warmly when she pushes a mug into his direction, sipping at her own.

"He also mentioned that he might apply for the new Herbology position that opened at Hogwarts now that's Professor Sprout's getting ready to retire."

"He'll get it for sure. Everybody knows there's almost nobody as good with plants than Neville." Harry continues to fill her in with all the news about their friends and work. They fall into their easy, light routine and after the night that she'd just had, Hermione was extremely grateful for a friend like Harry.

It only occurred to her, right when he started looking at her warily, that he was going to bring up Ron and his new partner. "Er, Ron's got himself a girlfriend. Can't believe he didn't tell me, really, until he introduced her to everyone."

Her heart gives a painful lurch and her fingers curl around her cup. "I see," she beings, wincing at how obvious the light tone in her voice is forced, "well that's great. Really great. Good for him."  
Harry's watching her, with that look he always has when he's trying to figure something out. Hermione meets his gaze evenly as she takes a sip of her tea. He opens his mouth but closes it, swallowing thickly, trying to think of the best way to say what's on his mind. She interrupts him before he can speak, "What's her name?"

"Her name?"

"Yes, Harry, her name." Hermione repeats, a little too stiff for her liking.

"Quinn." He supplies, still watching her closely. "Hermione, I've been meaning to ask for a while now, but are you okay?"

"Yes," she blinks at him, surprised, "I'm fine. Never better."

"While I'd love to believe that, 'Mione, but there are empty Sober Up vials in your bin and you almost never drink alcohol." Damn. Harry had always been observant. "And I doubt you'd forget to send us a notice when you aren't coming to the Burrow, considering everything we've been through." She winces, feeling rather guilty because ever since the war they always kept in touch if someone came up. Old war habits die hard, and the fear of someone going missing dies harder. She takes a gulp of her remaining tea.

"Hermione," Harry's voice has gone soft, "what happened? You can trust me, you know that." He starts again after a few seconds of her not responding, staring down at the dregs in her cup mutely. "Was it – Was it memories of the war?"

She shakes her head, sighing. "It wasn't that. It's Ron."

"Ron?" Harry echoes, brow knitting together in confusion before the realization hits him. "Oh. That was you apparating last night, wasn't it?" She sets the cup on the counter but doesn't let go. Probably best to hold onto something for support, if she was going to have this particular conversation. "I didn't realise you still -"

"I hid it rather well." Hermione interrupts, lips tugging into a sad smile. "We never really spoke about the time in the Chamber or when we were on the run. I guess we were all a little too busy, you see, to think about a relationship." Harry's still watching her carefully, tea abandoned in favour of giving her his full attention. "There was so much to do after the war, so much to-" She hesitates, throat closing up for a moment. Harry reaches out to put his hand on hers. "A year turned into four, and... and here we are."

"I'm sorry." Harry says. She waves him off.

"I'll be fine. It'll hurt for a while but I'll get over it. I – I don't think we'd work that great together anyway, Ron and I. If we were really supposed to be together, we would be by now. It's probably for the best." Harry only looks at her sadly. "Promise me you won't say anything. To him, or anyone. Even Ginny."  
He promises and raises his pinky to seal it. The action causes Hermione to smile, a genuine, foolishly fond smile, as she takes it.

Harry leaves an hour later, telling her he'd send over her Christmas presents by three o'clock tomorrow, hugging her tightly and pressing a kiss to her cheek, lingering in her doorway as if she'd ask him to stay. She didn't, knowing Ginny would be waiting for him, and so he left, with a warm, concerned smile. His absence, no longer a distraction, leads her back to last night, and she groans, leaning her head on the back of the front door. Absolutely mortified by her behavior in front of Malfoy. Her cheeks warm as she remembers the way Malfoy held her steady, and how he'd threatened that creep, and taken her home because she was so sloshed that she couldn't make it home by herself.

Absolutely humiliating.

At least, she reasoned, it was highly unlikely they'd ever see each other again. It had been four years since their paths had last crossed, and the chances that they'd start now were zero to none. Malfoy had certainly changed, though. He was still the same arrogant, sly prick but more mellow. Tempered. He certainly wouldn't have refrained from calling out her 'dirty blood', and definitely wouldn't have protected her from a perverted old wizard years ago. Let alone touch her. Even if he still thought that she was lesser because of her blood – because some things take a lot longer than four years to move on from – he'd at least had the decency to not say them and for that, she was grateful. The words no longer held power over her like they had done when she was a young girl but she still didn't like to hear them.

He looked rather ill if she was honest, thinking back to his appearance. He was skinnier than she remembered him and while he had always been rather pale, his skin looked sickly with the lack of colour . Malfoy certainly hadn't slept for weeks if his bloodshot eyes were to go anything by – Hermione scowls, annoyed at herself. It's none of her business what he looks like and whether he's been sleeping or not. Regardless of how he appeared to have changed and how he had helped her last night, they certainly weren't friends. Far from it. Hermione pushes any thought related to the wizard in the back of her mind as she moves around her flat to clean up her mess and takes a much-needed shower.

She doesn't think of Malfoy for the rest of the day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is short too oops
> 
> The chapters onward are longer, I promise. Anywho, I hope you enjoyed reading this! :)


	3. rotten luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione jinx's herself and really, really wants to crawl into a black hole of abyss and just stay there forever.

It's been a week since that  _incident._ Incident meaning both the Ron situation and her utter humiliation in front of her old childhood nemesis. Hermione had kept herself under control when it came to Ron Weasley rather well. They haven't seen each other yet, since her little break down on Christmas night, and she's not returning his letters. Harry, bless him, had most likely came up with an excuse to keep her out of their weekly get-togethers as well as why she wasn't responding to Ron's increasingly irritated letters. Harry was probably the only reason Ron hadn't come banging on her door to see and talk to her yet.

Or maybe he was distracted with his new lover.

That particular thought was difficult to swallow. Nevertheless, she folded it up and stuck it into her 'Forbidden Thoughts' box in her mind. At least for now.  
She'd been right about not seeing Malfoy, too. Something she was ever so grateful for because she doubted she could ever look at him in the eye again.

Hermione considered herself rather lucky so far when it came to the  _incident._ She hummed contently, gently dragging her index finger along the spine of a rather interesting looking book. It was Tuesday, one of her days off from St Mungo's, and Hermione was spending the day huddled up in  _Leather & Quills, _a rather quaint bookstore settled in the corner of Diagon Alley that had popped up last year. It was never terribly busy, which she loved because it meant that she was recognised less. Shopping in Diagon Alley was a trying experience nowadays and she often wished it was like how it used to be, where she could peruse the streets without being stared at or talked to or asked for an autograph. She honestly didn't know how Harry had dealt with it all those years at Hogwarts, or even how he handled it now. The public was considerably worse with Harry Potter than they were with her. Ron was the only one enjoying the fame out of the three of them.

The bell behind her tingles, signaling someone's entered the store. Hermione takes a book off the shelf, and then another when she catches sight of shockingly blonde hair through the gaps she had just made. She can feel her face draining of colour immediately.  _Just her luck_ , Hermione scowls,  _of course he had to show up_. Draco Malfoy brushes off some of the snow that had fallen on his coat and heads for Potions section.

A section that had shelves stacked with books and a very frazzled looking Hermione Granger in it.

She cursed her rotten luck and looked around, trying to find somewhere to hide, hastily putting the books she'd grabbed back. If she stopped to think, hiding from Malfoy was really ridiculous and there was no reason to – but she had already slipped in between the bookshelves just as he turned the corner. From her position she could see him rather clearly and, since he hadn't spotted her, he couldn't see her. He looked a little healthier than he had that night but not by much, she thinks, watching him pull out one of the books she'd been holding a few seconds ago. He thumbs through it in a gentle manner that surprises her, when his cold eyes suddenly meet hers.

Maybe he could see her, then.

"Granger." Malfoy greets stiffly. She slips out of between the bookshelves, hiding place rendered useless. No use in pretending she wasn't there now since he'd caught her. "Malfoy." She replies, equally as stiff. Hermione puts as much space as possible between them as she feigns interests in  _The Uses of Dragon Skin, Claws, and Blood for Potion-Making_ by  _Arsenius Jigger._

"Didn't notice you for a moment there." Malfoy drawls, eyes staring into hers. He's gotten closer.

"I accidentally dropped a book between the shelves. I was trying to get it." Hermione offers up as an excuse, trying to edge away from him as subtly as she can. The intensity of his gaze has her skin burning.  
His eyes flicker over to her useless hiding spot and raises a single brow. "You're not holding a book."

"Well," she replies sharply, pulling Jigger's book from the shelf, "it was too far in. I couldn't get it out."

"Right." His tone is entirely disbelieving and a little snarky. Her cheeks warm and she defiantly turns her head to hide it. Malfoy goes quiet, attention turning back to the book in his hands. Hermione, relieved, moves to escape as quickly as she can without being weird when he speaks up again. Damn. "I wouldn't get that title if I were you. It's not his finest work, and he's already covered the subject in his previous book."

"Er, right." She glances at the thick, leather-bound book in her grasp, and then back at him.

"Didn't realise you were into potions, Granger."

"It's not my favourite subject," she replies, rather confused about why he's actively trying to make conversation. "But I'm doing research for my assignment." She slides the book back into its place.

"Assignment?"

"I'm a trainee Healer."

This makes him look at her, surprised. "Last I heard, you worked at the Ministry." Her skin starts prickling again, now that he's staring at her, and she itches at the inner corner of her wrist.

"I used to. It wasn't going anywhere that I liked, and I've always had an interest in healing. So here I am."

He raises a brow at her again (definitely a habit), smirking. "I would think that the Ministry would be stumbling over their own feet to please you, Granger." She scowls at his words and something flashes behind his eyes, his smirk growing.

"They did." She says curtly, "but I would rather climb based on my own merit than the part I played during the war." His expression dampers at the mention of the war – like most do when somebody brings it up – and he clears his throat.

"I see." She briefly considers bringing up that night at the pub before immediately tossing the idea away. Even though she wanted to know the answers, it meant that she'd have to relive the embarrassing memory. It also meant having to talk to Malfoy even more which she loathed to do. It was unlikely he'd even tell her why, if she did. Best to not embarrass herself further.

He goes silent again and Hermione takes the opportunity to rush off before he can try to say something again. She can feel his cold, grey eyes burning into the back of her head.

It's three o'clock now and she's curled up in her bed, lost in a good book. There's a substantial sized pile of presents wrapped in garish, Christmas wrapping in the corner of her room. Harry had sent them over last week like he said he would, but she hadn't opened them yet. Mostly because if she opened them, she'd have to owl everyone and thank them, which meant that she'd have to face the Weasley family because they'd no doubt invite her over the moment she sent a letter. She hadn't seen them for a while now and they were as much of a family to her as they were to Harry. It's a cowardly thing to do, purposely avoiding them, and she's terribly guilty over it but Hermione just wants to keep to herself for a little bit. Her heart has eased up over the past week and she's certain it'll be easier to manage after she's had another week to filter things.

Despite her reasoning, she knows there's nothing Gryffindor-esque about the entire situation.

Suddenly, there are loud noises coming from the front of her flat, and she gets up hastily, wand in hand. It takes her a second to realise that the banging is just really harsh knocks on her door and she tucks her wand back into her pocket, feeling a sense of déjà vu.

"I'm coming!" She yells at the door, rubbing at her temples. "No need to bang on the –  _Ron."_ Her breath catches in the back of her throat. Ron Weasley's grinning at her widely, arms already moving to hug her tightly. She's pulled into a crushing embrace, slightly lifted off her feet, before she can even think of saying anything or move away.  _Oh no_.

"It's been too long, 'Mione!" Ron exclaims in her ear. Harry rushes up to the door after him, glasses askew, and slightly breathless.

He sends her an apologetic look. "Alright Ron, don't squish her to death." Ron lets her down though not entirely letting her out of his arms. She can't pull away even though she wants to, because it would look too suspicious.

Hermione can feel a headache already forming.

"You haven't been replying to my letters." Ron says to her, a slight frown on his face, but his eyes are still shining so he's not too upset.  
She scrambles to find an excuse when – "I told you Ron," Harry intervenes, "she's been swamped with the traineeship. Didn't reply to mine either until I showed up at her door." His tone is light but he's looking at her with concern over Ron's shoulder. She gives him a smile, trying to convey that she's  _fine_ and her thanks for him being an excellent best friend, without getting being too obvious.

"Well-" Ron says, but Harry interrupts again by putting his hand on his shoulder.  
"Let's get inside, yeah? It's bloody cold."

Hermione slides over to let the two men in. If only she had checked who was at the door before opening it since she could've avoided this entire mess by pretending she wasn't, immediately headed to the kitchen, like usual, and Harry lingers back to give her a comforting squeeze on the shoulder and hangs up his coat. They join Ron in the kitchen, who is already munching on the sweets she had been saving for later, spilling crumbs all over her counter. "Hope you don't mind, 'Mione." Ron says to her with his mouth full. She cringes at the sight, murmuring something intelligible and goes to make tea, desperately needing something to do with her hands.

Harry and Ron are talking about Quidditch when she slides the mugs towards them. "The ref was mad! It was obvious that it was a  _foul!"_ She tunes them out, pretending to look for something in her cabinet so she doesn't have to look at him.

Hermione knew that she'd have to face him eventually, but so soon? She wanted to bang her head against the counter. "I've got to tell you something Hermione." Ron says behind her, and her stomach sinks at his tone. There's no doubt that he's about to tell her about his girlfriend. She's happy – as happy as she can be, since it's not  _her –_ that he's happy, but its too _soon_ and too  _recent_ for her to be able to smile and congratulate him and make it sound genuine. Ron may not be the most observant out of the three of them but he knows his friends – knows  _her._ He'd be able to spot her fake smile quickly, which is why she needed  _space._ To force down her stupid feelings enough that Ron wouldn't notice.

Harry, bless him again, scents the danger quickly and kicks Ron out into the living room. The ginger is confused but goes anyway, munching on more chocolate frogs. The tension in her muscles lightens the moment Ron exits the room, and she leans on her hands on both sides of the sink, breathing steadily through her nose. Harry doesn't speak until they hear Ron exclaiming loudly at her TV. Some things never change. "I tried to stop him, Hermione, but you know Ron."

"It's alright Harry," she says, wincing at how strained her voice sounds, "I couldn't avoid him for much longer. Thank you for trying."

Hermione lets out a heavy sigh and pushes herself off the sink. "I can probably think of a way to get us to leave." Harry offers and her heart warms. He really was an amazing friend.  
"There's no need but thank you. I'll be fine. Let's get out there before he breaks my telly."

Ron had worked out how to turn it on and was watching a baseball game enthusiastically, munching on the rest of her chocolate frogs. "Look at that! Looks awfully complicated." He tells them as they sit down next to him. Hermione sits as far away as she can from Ron without it looking odd. She's not sure if it's very convincing at all but Ron, thankfully, is too preoccupied with the "moving muggle pictures" to notice. Despite the fact that he's watched muggle TV before, he's still fascinated every time she turns it on. They chat as they watch the game, Harry explaining how it works, while she mostly kept quiet. The tension still hadn't left – not like she had expected it to so soon – and the space between her and Ron has her heart aching slightly. It was such a bother, really, and she couldn't wait for it to be gone. Pathetic feelings aside, Ron was her best friend. She wasn't going to let her stupidity get between their friendship.

Harry expertly distracts Ron every time it looks like he's about to break the news of his girlfriend to her and she feigns getting more snacks every time he gets a little too close or whenever he touches her. It's ridiculous. The ache turns into irritation at herself because Ron didn't deserve her being weird just because she had been under the impression that they'd eventually become a thing. Even after the years started going by. She's scowling, which catches the attention of Ron. "You alright there Hermione?"

"Yes! I'm fine." She attempts a smile but it really turns out more like a grimace. He opens his mouth, brows furrowed, but Harry nudges him. "You just missed an epic play!" Harry exclaims.

"What?" Ron turns back to the telly, leaning forward with eyes glued to the screen. Harry holds his pinky behind Ron's back, smiling, and she has to stifle her laugh. She takes it just as Ron yells, scrambling to his feet, about how that was  _totally_ wicked and wow, muggles  _really_ do have some interesting sports.

She really does have the most amazing friends.

They all watch the game for the next twenty minutes before everything started to go wrong. Harry had popped off to the loo leaving them alone in her living room. She hoped he wouldn't be gone too long because, without Harry, there was no buffer between Ron and her. No way to get out of - "It's really too bad that you couldn't come to the Burrow last week. Harry told me you were sick but," Ron starts and her heart sinks horribly, "there was someone I  _really_ wanted you to meet."

"Oh?" She says faintly.  _C'mon Harry, where are you?_

"Yeah. I met someone."

"Oh. That's nice." Her tongue feels like lead.

"Yeah." Ron turns to look at her and she keeps her eyes glued to the man running for second base. "Her name's Quinn. She's a muggle-born, like you, and she likes  _books_ , like you do. I think you'd get along really well, actually."

Hermione swallows a slightly manic, awkward giggle. "Is that right?" is all she can say, voice tight.

"I'm sure of it." She sees Ron flash a smile at her in the corner of her eye. "She didn't participate in the war. Her parents thought it'd be best to move to America for a while once they heard about what was happening. They've only just come back a few months ago. That's how we met, actually, since her parents wanted to know if it really was safe again and I got sent over to reassure them since they wouldn't listen to anybody but an Auror."

"That's great. How lucky."

Hermione knows Ron Weasley like the back of her hand. Almost better than she knows herself. He's fishing for her approval and, right now, she's not in the best state to give it. He leans closer to her, lips tugging downward just a tad, which forces her to look at him in the eye. It hurts to look at him but it'll be too suspicious if she looks away. Ron can't know what's going on with her. Not yet and probably not ever, if she has any say in it. She hopes her eyes aren't betraying the emotions that's she trying to shove down.

"Quinn was excited to meet you. Oh, I know!" Hermione sees Harry walk into the living room, behind Ron, but can't give him a sign for help with the attention on her. "How about we all go grab lunch together – you, Quinn, Harry and me, next week on your other day off. Saturday right?"

Harry's face pales, having heard that last bit. "Ron!" He shouts, and the man in question whips around to look at him. She can breathe a little more normally now, with his eyes off her. "I, er, just remembered something."

"What is it mate?"

"Kingsley wanted us back at the office. Now. To, er, look at this new case he's been building. Against the last remaining Death Eaters that we haven't caught."

Ron's brows knit together in confusion. "But didn't we have a meeting about that yesterday -"  
"Yes, well, he wants to go over it with us again." Harry tells him, overly enthusiastic. A little bit too over the top, if the slightly skeptical look that Ron's sporting is anything to go by.

"But -"

"Really, Ronald," Hermione cuts in, "if the Minister himself wants to go over a case, you ought to get going."

"I suppose so -"

"We better head off now." Harry says, already walking towards the door.

"Better not keep Kingsley waiting." Hermione chimes in after him.

"Alright." Ron frowns, standing up.

Harry's looking at her, looking obviously guilty that he'd left her alone. She only shakes her head at him. It's not his fault that she's being a complete idiot. "So sorry Hermione," Harry says to her, sliding on his coat as Ron shuffles up behind them. Her lips tug into a small, fond smile at the double meaning behind his apology.  _It's okay,_ she wants to say,  _it's my fault for being hung up something that hasn't been there for years._  "Can't ignore this case. Important Auror stuff, you know."

"Of course. No need to apologise." Harry understands the meaning behind her words just as quickly as she had with his and pulls her into a warm hug. She sighs into his shoulder. It's been a trying day. Just her luck, honestly, to have run into both Malfoy and Ron. She doesn't let go of him for a few seconds more, the hug going on much longer than what ought to be normal if they don't want Ron to become suspicious but she needs it. Needs the warmth and comfort of her best friend, the man she considered the brother she'd never had. Harry seems to understand it too and wraps his arms around her just as tightly until she reluctantly lets him go with a fond pat of his shoulder.  _Thank you_ , the gesture says.

When Ron starts to look like he's going for a hug, too, she hastily ushers the two men out. "About next Saturday, Hermione -"

"Sorry, Ron. I can't do Saturday. They asked me to come in. Maybe next time." She tells him, trying her best to give a believable apologetic look, and then firmly shuts the door in his face. Immediately, a massive weight lifts off her shoulders, and she slumps down to the ground with her back against the wall. Hermione covers her face in her palms, balancing her elbows on her knees, and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

She'll definitely check who's at the door  _before_ she opens it next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually haven't edited this just yet and I'm running late to something so I just decided to upload 'cause I couldn't wait. oops. If it's absolutely horrendous, I apologise for what I just put you through. Sorry, loves!
> 
> Hopefully you enjoyed this despite my embarrassing mistakes! Thanks for reading :)


	4. school children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has been through a lot in her life. This, however, might actually be the last straw.
> 
> Ronald Weasley and Draco Malfoy would never hear the end of this!

 

"I refuse!" The wizard in front of her shouts, waving his arms around to express his outrage. "I won't take it!"

"With all due respect, Mr. Reaver, I implore you to take the potion for the benefit of your  _health."_ Hermione barely resisted the urge to rub at her temples as an attempt to fend off her horrible headache. Reaver had been in her care for about a month now and was one of the most difficult men she had ever had the misfortune to meet. His condition wasn't life-threatening, otherwise the Healers overseeing her traineeship wouldn't have put him in her hands, but he adamantly refused to take any potion or let them perform any spells on him. Reaver was an overly cautious man who never took potions he hadn't made himself and was even more way of spells, regardless if they were healing spells performed by employed Healers. Hermione had seen him react the same way to fully qualified Healers so it wasn't just the fact that she was only a Healer-in-Training. His health was deteriorating from the lack of help via magic, and his family refused to sign him out until he got better. It was a vicious cycle and Hermione was certain it was a test of her will from her supervisors.

She also thought that the man's family didn't want him back home, hence why they kept him at St Mungo's and almost never visited him. She couldn't blame them, really, since he had a horrible attitude and insulted her every chance he got. "You can't make me!" The sickly wizard yelled at her, pointing his index finger at her, with a firm, defiant expression.

"Sir," Hermione fights down a heavy sigh. "If you would like to be out of St Mungo's eventually, I suggest you take the potion."

"Are you  _threatening_  me?!" Reaver growls, abruptly leaning up from his position on the bed.

"Wha –  _of course not!"_ She tells him incredulously, eyes wide with the accusation. "My duty is for the care of my patients -"

"Ms. Granger."

Hermione tenses, cursing inaudibly under her breath and turns to face her supervisor. Of all the times he had to check on her, it just  _had_ to be now. "Healer Jones." She greets stiffly and her grip on her clipboard tightens. Healer Jones was one of three of her supervisors throughout her traineeship and, out of all three, was the one who could stand her the least. Hermione wasn't sure what she had done to upset the man, but he'd been unnecessarily rude to her since day one.

He was a tall, lanky man with only wisps of blonde hair left on the top of his head, and a permanent frown etched into the lines of his pale face. A frown that now deepened at the sight of her. "There have been complaints from the other patients," he sniffs. "It's been brought to my attention that you've been disturbing the rest of the ward."

Hermione barely caught her jaw before it dropped. "She's been disturbing me alright!" Reaver says sharply, waving a pointed finger. "She just threatened me!"

Jones narrows his brown eyes at her, eyebrows shooting up to the top of his wide forehead. "I assure you," Hermione quickly interjects, "I haven't done anything of the sort."

"I certainly hope not, Ms. Granger."

Reaver mutters something that Hermione would rather not hear and lets herself be led by the older Healer out of hearing range from the (infuriating) patient. "Sir -" She says the moment Reaver can't hear them but is quick to shut her mouth as Healer Jones raises a hand to silence her.

"Mr. Reaver has been a patient for quite some time, Ms. Granger. I am well aware of his... tendencies to refuse treatment and exaggerate the situation. You need not explain yourself. However," his brown eyes peer down at her sharply, "Please try to remain professional regardless of how... particular difficult a patient may behave."

Hermione swallows a sigh and nods. She'd long since suspected that Reaver was a test to her capabilities as a Healer, but that still didn't refrain from hexing the man in her imagination. "Yes, sir."

"You may move onto your other duties. I will have someone look after Mr. Reaver in your place for this morning."

Hermione rejoices silently and tries her best to tug her lips into a professional smile, rather than the relieved grin that was forming. Healer Jones' knowing eye tells her she hadn't been that successful, but Hermione can't bring herself to care too much, and quickly moves away before the man can change his mind.

When lunchtime finally rolls around, Hermione's exhausted. She's been doused in thick goo twice, nearly had her hand bitten off by a book that had been gnawing on a poor wizard's arm, and her hair tugged rather viciously by a child visiting their sick aunt. When the relieving Healer turns up to take over, Hermione almost pulls the witch into a rather fierce hug. She doesn't - because that would be rather embarrassing, not to mention rather odd – and leaves with a grateful nod.

She's about to head down the ground floor to clock off for lunch when she spots bright ginger hair and a freckled face around her corner. She immediately pales. "Have you seen Hermione Granger?" Ron Weasley asks the Healer besides him, who points him in the direction that she just came from. Hermione bolts, gone before Ron can catch a glimpse of her and looks around hastily in the ward, desperate for a place to hide. Hopefully better than the one she used to attempt to avoid Malfoy.

_Why was Ron here?_ She'd only just seen him two days ago when Harry and he popped over for a surprise visit, and she barely held it together in her own home with Harry as a buffer. There's no way she can be with him one-on-one at her  _job_.

The Healers bustling around her glance at her curiously as she stands in the middle of the ward. She can hear Ron's heavy footsteps coming from the hall behind her and, cursing everything she could think, she sped off as quickly as she was able to whilst trying not to arouse suspicion. There're not many places one can hide on this particular floor and Hermione didn't fancy having to explain why she was suddenly in a patient's room when she wasn't supposed to be –  _there._

The potion stockroom! The potion stockroom for their floor is hidden near the back of the ward, out of sight, and a perfect place to hide from her best friend. Ron wouldn't look for her there even if he was allowed access to it, and she could feign interest into tallying up their stock if she got caught. The relief crashes into her likes waves as Hermione hurries over to it, and sees Ron's face looking around the ward for her in the corner of her eye, and shuts it behind her. She leans against it with a deep sigh.

"Granger?"

The relief is sapped away at once and her heart drops. Among the many shelves of labeled potions stacked neatly, resides Draco Malfoy with his fingers curled delicately around a bottle of Pepper Up, staring at her with thinly veiled curiosity and surprise.  _You've got to be kidding me,_ Hermione scowls.

The shock evaporates quickly, considering the circumstances, and she whirls on him. "What are  _you_ doing in here?!" Nobody that didn't work at St Mungo's was allowed in here. There were  _wards_ for a reason!

"I could say the same to you." Malfoy drawls, raising an eyebrow, and gently puts the potion in his hand onto the shelf it belongs to.

"I  _work_ here!" She bristles at his tone, her hands instinctively resting on her hips as she stares him down. "While you clearly do not." Malfoy only shrugs and reaches for another potion from the trolley next to him. He doesn't respond and continues putting the rest of the Pepper Up potions as she stares at him incredulously. "Did you – Did you  _break in_?"

Her accusation finally garners her with a response. He visibly starts and twists to look at her. " _What?"_ He says sharply, "Merlin, who do you think I am? I did not  _'break in'."_

"But -"

"If you must know," his voice has gone back to its bored drawl that sends spikes of irritation through her, "I supply potions to St Mungo's monthly. I'm here dropping them off." He rolls his eyes at her shocked expression, to which she quickly wipes it off her face. Hermione briefly remembered reading a snippet in the Daily Prophet that mentioned Malfoy and how he had recently acquired the title of Potion Master, despite the fact that it took almost double the time for most to reach that title, earlier that year. It made sense, considering that in school he had been very interested in potions – and why he immediately went for the potions section in  _Leather & Quills _during their last encounter. The aftermath of the war had left the wizarding world with little witches and wizards well versed in potion making, hence why St Mungo's had to outsource from their usual large companies. Most didn't exist now, with their owners either still missing, or had run away from the war and still hadn't returned. Or dead.

This train of thought prompts her to ask her next question: "Surely you don't have to be here yourself. Most potions come through delivery, do they not?" Hermione watches with interest as he slightly stiffens. Malfoy lets her wait for his reply and drags his index finger along one of the shelves, sneering when it shows a thin layer of dust.

"Some potions require extreme care, Granger. Forgive me for not trusting owls to not ruin months of work." Hermione notices he's pointedly not making eye contact with her, which spikes her curiosity, and she almost wants to make him look at her so she can see what he'd hiding – which is ridiculous, so she quickly forgets the thought.

Hermione narrows her eyes at him, thinking about what he just told her. Surely there's enchantments and spells to make sure that they wouldn't break in the event that an owl would mishandle the package... She opens her mouth to tell him just that when he swiftly interrupts her.

"I have a reason to be here while  _you_ do not." He looks at her now, a smirking forming on his lips as she flushes a deep red. Malfoy moves closer to her, the trolley stacked with various potions dutifully following him. There's no way that she's going to tell him that she was avoiding Ron, so Hermione keeps her mouth clamped shut, set into a scowl. Her refusal only makes his look more intrigued, and Malfoy tilts his head, observing her. He's still moving forward towards her, and she wants to take a step back to maintain some distance between them, but the cool wood against her back forbids her from doing so.

Malfoy halts the trolley behind him with a flick of his wand and enters her personal space. Her breath hitches slightly at the proximity. He's got at least a couple of inches on her so, although she's getting increasingly uncomfortable, Hermione she tilts her head upwards to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, full of an emotion she can't quite grasp, as he looks at her. Her vocal chords suddenly stop working as he reaches up and twirls his finger around a stray curl that had fallen out of her bun.

She's frozen but her body heats up at the contact until her skin feels like it's on fire. Malfoy's touch, and gaze, seems to have that effect on her and she can't fathom why. "Why  _are_ you in here, Granger?"

"I..."

"Yes?" He says, breathy and intense, leaning further down until their faces are a mere breath apart. His free hand rests on the wood next to her face, effectively trapping her. The intensity of the look he's sporting sends shivers down her spine.

"Give me some space, Malfoy." is all she says when her voice returns, folding her arms underneath her breasts. "There's something called personal space, you know."

Malfoy lets out a bark of laughter which almost causes her to jump, startled. He pushes off the door with his hand and untangles his finger from her lock of hair with a slight tug. "Did I ever tell you how atrocious your hair is, back in school? I take back all of it. It doesn't even compare to what it looks like now."

"What -  _Excuse me_?" Hermione splutters, still whirring from his proximity. She blinks, and suddenly he's nearly on the opposite side of the room, and a slight chill replaces the warmth of his body heat. Hermione frowns, bewildered and confused at Malfoy's behaviour and the abrupt turn of the conversation.

"You know Granger," Malfoy continues, "lime green really isn't your colour. It's not a good look on you." Despite herself, she takes a glance down at her robes, brows knitting together. Malfoy interrupts her before she can retort, giving his wand a disinterested flick, which makes the top row of vials float off the trolley into their respective places on the shelves. "Also, I don't know if anybody's told you," he wrinkles his nose, "but you smell as if someone set of a particularly nasty dungbomb."

_Where did all of this even come from?_ All Hermione can do is stare, wide-eyed, at the infuriating wizard as he sends another row of potions to the racks. "What, in Merlin's socks, is your  _point_ Malfoy?"

The man heaves a great sigh, as if she was the bane of his existence – which, Hermione thinks with wry amusement, that she had been exactly that for a very long time. "My point is that you're a mess Granger. I highly recommend a shower. Or three."

"My current state is none of your business Malfoy."

He mutters something under his breath that she doesn't catch. "What was that?" She snaps sharply, shifting her weight from one foot to the another. He ignores her in favour of giving his wand another acute flick as the third row of bottles shoot up into the air.

Malfoy, it seems, is an expert to getting under her skin.

Tired of being ignored and mostly fueled by anger – not entirely directed at him, considering her rotten day, he's really just uncorked it all - she stomps up to him and demands his attention. Malfoy looks at her, more amused by her antics than anything else, and leans down so they're level again. All the fight in her disappears with his face so close to hers (did he really need to get so  _close?_  Honestly), and she swallows all the words that she had been planning to say, mind going in a tizzy. "Isn't your lunch break close to being over?" He murmurs, eyes boring into hers.

"How do  _you_ know that -" She cuts herself off as a loud commotion comes from outside the door. She pales as the distinctive voice of Ron Weasley wafts through the cracks. "Are you sure she's not in there? I've looked everywhere, and the witch at the front desk says she hasn't clocked off yet."

"Sir..." A witch's voice, one that she faintly recognises but can't quite place, follows his but the rest of what she says is obstructed by the wooden door. Hermione curses under her breath and tries to move away hastily, maybe find a shelf to hide behind, when she  _slips_.

_Oh no, oh no. Why now of all times?!_

Her world tilts on its axis, and she lets out a rather undignified squeak, tumbling forward. A hand grabs her elbow -  _("I just heard her! She's in trouble!") -_ as her body collides with Malfoy, whose other hand clutches at her waist. The bottles rattle as the wizard's back hits the shelves and he winces at the impact.

Just as the door blasts open.

Hermione closes her eyes, pretending she doesn't exist for just a moment miserably, before craning her head to look at her best friend. Ron's staring open-mouthed at the scene before him and, coming to his senses, whips out his wand and points it directly at Malfoy's face.  _"Get off her you git!_ " The Healer behind him clutches at her heart, eyes wide. Oh, how Hermione wished the ground would swallow her whole.

Malfoy drops his hold on her, smoothing out his robes, and Hermione quickly scrambles up, flushing a deep red, mortified. "I don't know if you're blind,  _Weasley,_ " he drawls, tone bored, "but she was clearly on  _me_." Hermione refrains from the temptation to whack him over the head but doesn't, as she's too preoccupied with her best friend's increasingly reddening complexion and fiery temper.

"Ron -"

"I bet you did something to her!" Ron cuts her off, advancing forward, snatching Hermione's arm and roughly pulls her behind him. She winces at the tight grip and the feel of his fingernails digging into her flesh. Malfoy narrows his eyes at Ron's hand.

"You're hurting her, you idiot." He says, "and here I thought you  _cared_ for her." Ron tenses at his accusation and releases Hermione from his grip, giving a silent apology to her in a single glance. He quickly returns his attention back to the wizard eyeing the tip of his wand.

"There's no way Hermione would let your slimy, rotten hands touch her!" Ron growls, taking a threatening step forward.

" _Ron_  -"

"I haven't done anything to Granger." Malfoy sighs, exasperated, rolling his eyes at the angry ginger who's shoving a wand in his face. A smirk tugs at his lips as he adds carelessly, "Nothing that she didn't want, anyway."

" _Malfoy!"_

Ron lets out a strangled noise at that, abandoning his wand, and pushes the wizard which causes the potions on the racks behind him clink and shudder at the force. "Resorting to violence so quickly? You haven't changed a bit." Malfoy sneers nastily, fists clenched. He doesn't make a move to retaliate.

"Ron!" Hermione shouts, glancing warily at the two men.

"I can't let him talk about you like that, 'Mione!"

"I can defend myself quite well, thanks." Hermione snaps, "Now  _both_ of you stop acting like a bunch of school children!"

Ron sends Malfoy one last withering look before shuffling back over to her.

"Always following Granger like a well-trained dog, I see." Malfoy sneers. Hermione can feel herself flush an embarrassing shade of red and just manages to restrain herself from hexing the wizard. Before both her and Ron get to respond, he continues. "Not that I blame you." His grey eyes rake over her, a smirk on his lips, sending shivers down her back. Hermione's mouth falls open and blushes a deeper red – but it's nothing compared to the look that Ron's sporting.

Ron, blinded by his anger, tackles him and – to Hermione's horror, the shelf starts to tilt ( _"STOP!"_ ) – but the two men don't notice as they start swinging at each other.

She hastily whips out her wand from the pockets of her  _("Don't you dare look at her like that, you ferret!")_ to immobilise them when the shelf groans alarmingly as Malfoy is knocked into it again, and finally gives. Her eyes are as wide as saucers, and she's a fraction too late and –  _everything_  comes crashing down, the resounding  _crack_ echoes around the room menacingly. The glass of rows and rows of vials shatter around them, the potions inside spilling and oozing all over the floor.

And coating Ron and Malfoy.

They're both bleeding from cuts where the rebounding glass had cut into their skin, Malfoy's sporting a rather nasty looking black-eye, and Ron's got a split lip and what appears to be as a broken wrist. Both of their clothes are disintegrated at the ends, and Ron's turning a sickly shade of green, having faced the brunt of the wayward potions. In normal circumstances, she'd be reasonably concerned, but this...

" _What is going on here?!"_

Hermione freezes up as Healer Jones' chilling, tightly controlled voice, sounds from behind her.  _Oh no, oh no, oh no._ She reluctantly turns, movement robotic, and meets the eyes of her infuriated supervisor. The Healer (who she recognised now as Healer Spleen, a witch she'd seen around the ward), who no doubt had run off to get Jones, was wringing her wrists anxiously behind him.  _There goes her job._ "Well..." Hermione racks her brain for a perfectly reasonable excuse for the disaster that had just occurred.

Ron gags behind her, and she whirls around, as he retches, back hunched. Malfoy side-steps out of the way, sneering and wrinkling his nose with disgust. "Ron!" She hurries forward, momentarily forgetting about Healer Jones in her concern for her best friend. Hermione rubs at his back comfortingly and waits until he finishes. He looks so ill that any trepidation about her current impending doom – and her feelings for him – fly right out of her mind. "Oh, Ron..."

Malfoy scoffs next to her. "Pathetic." She shoots him a withering look and almost comments on the fact that he's looking like he's about to be sick as well, when Ron lets out a wet cough, distracting her.  
 _"'Mi...one._ " He warbles miserably.

"Healer Spleen," Jones cuts in sharply, sending a jolt through Hermione since she had forgotten he was even there. "Take these two to be looked over immediately." The witch nods, following the orders, and holds onto Ron, dragging him from the room. Malfoy follows, almost reluctantly, glancing almost regretfully at Hermione.

" _Not you."_ Jones' growls at her when she makes a move after them. " _You_ are to come into my office.  _Now."_

Hermione Granger had faced a lot of things in her life, but right now, she was unsure she'd get out of this predicament unscathed.

She was absolutely going to  _kill_ Ronald Weasley and Draco Malfoy if she got out of this meeting alive.

The office is relatively small, but welcoming, despite the fact that the man occupying it was anything but – to her, at least. Medals and certificates of Healer Jones' achievements occupied the walls (regardless of his own treatment towards her, she still had respect for the man; he was undoubtedly excellent in his field) that boasted of his prowess. His seating arrangement was fairly open, with comfy armchairs facing the dark oak wood desk that the man sat at now. In other circumstances, she might've admired the way that he had put the room together, but as it was, Healer Jones was now currently dangling her traineeship over her head.

"You've destroyed gallons worth of potion supplies – need I not remind you that we are _still_  limited in our stock, Ms. Granger. In addition to your travesty, the sound of the event unsettled many of the patients and the rest of the Healers are still trying to restore order. I, on top of all this, have a renowned, highly respected Auror and one of St Mungo's trusted potion suppliers in our beds recovering from being doused in a mixture of potions and a physical altercation." His eyes are narrowed, piercing, and it suddenly takes her back to fifth year at Hogwarts, if she were fifteen again, sitting across from that horrid woman Umbridge, who was eyeing her with open disdain.

It's a startling thought and she quickly waves it away, shifting nervously in her seat. Best not reflect back on those terrible memories when she's on the cusp of being fired. "What  _were_ you doing there? If I recall correctly, it was your lunch break during the -" Jones' eyes flash with sudden clarity, cutting himself off, which sets off another set of bumbling nerves in her, as he stares at her with clear disapproval.

_Did he know that she was avoiding Ron? No, he couldn't. How could he know? It wasn't like it was obvious... was it?_

Jones' continues on, snapping her back from her internal anxiety. "During your initiation, Ms. Granger, you were presented with the lists of rules and requirements that you must abide by throughout the process of your training."

"Yes, sir -"

"Rules that are in place to prevent any danger towards surrounding patients, Healers, or yourself. Some rules include not treating a patient that requires spellwork or the use of potions without the permission from a stationed Healer - "

"Er, yes I remember. Excuse me, I'm not entirely following -"

"- And only taking care of patients assigned to unless expressed otherwise. A contract, may I remind you, that you signed willingly, Ms. Granger." She staring at him, bewildered and utterly confused. She remembered the contract very well as she had combed through it intensively when they had handed it to her.

"Healer Jones -"

"Another rule," Jones says sharply, "is that any unprofessional interactions, meetings and so forth remain strictly  _outside_ of the workplace."

Hermione's brows knit together in concentration, cogs in her brain turning as his words sunk in. What is he _– oh._ Oh.

"I do not care for what you do, or  _who_ you see, outside of this practice. However, considering the events that have just taken place, I'm forced to reprimand -"

This was simultaneously the most embarrassing and eye-opening experience she'd ever had to face in the recent years. Forget everything else she'd been through the last month or so,  _nothing_ could top off her  _boss_ talking to her about  _relationships_ and – Oh,  _Merlin,_ he thought she had something with  _Malfoy. And Ron._ Now, thinking upon the incident with growing mortification, that it did indeed looks very suspicious. Hermione's face was no doubt flushed with scarlet red, as the wizard in front of her continued his tirade.

She was never going to live this down.

"It's not what you think!" She shouts suddenly, standing up from her chair abruptly, fighting the urge to rip out her hair in frustration. (It was already enough of a mess as it was without her adding to it. Gosh, she probably looked like a  _wreck)._ Jones' merely raises a busy brow at her outburst and motions for her to explain with a wave of his hand.

She gives him a meek nod of thanks and awkwardly settles back into her seat. "I don't -  _Malfoy_ and I aren't - have  _never_ been, er,  _together._ This entire situation has just been an awful misunderstanding!" She smooths down her robes, more out of habit than anything else, and swallows thickly. Jones doesn't believe her, she can tell, and Hermione really can't blame him considering the way her words had stumbled out. If she was on the receiving end of her jumble, she doubted she'd believe herself either.

"It really is  _just_ a big misunderstanding. I had gone into the stock room to -"  _get away from Ron "-_ count the remaining stock of pain-relieving potions for Healer Kelly, since she had asked me earlier today." The lie slips off her lips smoothly.  _Well,_ Hermione reasons,  _it's not technically a lie because she really had been asked._ Hermione just had already counted the stock _._ More like an omission of sorts. "Malfoy was there putting away his delivery and we engaged in conversation." She fights down the blush threatening to colour her cheeks as she thinks back on the encounter.

"I slipped and he caught me, which was when Ron came in." A tired sigh escapes her lips before she can swallow it. "He thought that Malfoy was taking advantage of me. He's rather protective, you see, especially now after the war and, well, that it was  _Malfoy."_

For the first time since she'd met the wizard, his eyes flicker with solemn understanding. When he speaks, his tone is curt and sharp but undeniably softer. "I'm well aware of the past between Mr. Malfoy and yourself, and the history of the of the last couple of years."

The softness to his words and the tender expression on his face startles Hermione. "I apologise for jumping to conclusions, Ms. Granger. I admit that it is a fault on my character."

"That's, er, quite alright." Hermione says instinctively, surprised – albeit pleasantly – about the change in her supervisors' demeanor.

"Sometimes I forget," he adds suddenly, "about the contributions that you, and your generation, made during the war while the rest of us hid and cowered. I don't think I have ever personally thanked you for the part that you played in order to save the wizarding world."

Hermione clutches a fistful of her robes in her lap, smiling weakly. She's not exactly certain how to respond to that. Healer Jones' had never been particularly warm to her throughout her time at St Mungo's so it was rather jarring to see him like this.

"Right, well, back to the subject at hand." Jones' quickly returns back to his strict, no-nonsense self and Hermione sags slightly in relief, despite the lingering threat of the end of her traineeship. Even after four years she had never quite worked out how to handle people thanking her in regards to the war, unlike Harry, who had his entire life as practice. "There will be consequences for -"

He's interrupted by a commotion outside the door -  _("Mr. Malfoy, sir, you really can't go in there!"_ ) - and Hermione barely resists the urge to bang her head against any nearby surface. ( _"Nonsense," the wizard replies haughtily)._

"I see that Mr. Malfoy is feeling much better." Healer Jones' murmurs drily, giving his wand a light swish to open the door before returning it back to its place on his desk. The blonde wizard looks surprised for only a second, hand raised to knock, before he dons his usual, controlled expression. He straightens his robes, sauntering into the office.

"Healer Jones." He greets the fellow wizard curtly.

"Mr. Malfoy."

Hermione's pointedly staring at the wall behind Jones' head, refusing to give any of her attention towards the man who contributed to the event that's likely to cost her job. "I'm glad to see that you have recovered from today's earlier  _altercation_."

"Thank you. Your staff is lovely." Hermione, despite herself, risks a glance next to her. Malfoy's lounges on the armchair as if the office was  _his._ It's so blatantly arrogant and disrespectful that she can't help but let out an unattractive snort. Some things never change, it seems. She quickly averts her eyes when they both look at her.

"What brings you to my office, Mr. Malfoy?" Healer Jones' cuts to the chase. She can still feel Malfoy's eyes burning into the side of her head. It's rather unnerving.

"To explain the situation, of course."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..... hi?
> 
> It's been a while since I updated this. This chapter has been sitting in my files since I last updated, mostly done, and I've only just finished it now. Sorry! I'm still not entirely happy with it but it's only wasting away on my computer and I really want to get further into the story. So, here you go! I hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> I have a tumblr that I use freqently, to post little bits n bobs and excerpts from stories (such as this one!) as well as other updates, etc. Or, if you'd just like to chat, it's there!  
> [Feel free to check it out!](https://caandleworks.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been stuck in a continuous loop of writers block but dramione's managed to pull me out so far which I'm grateful for so I'm hoping it stays that way. Fingers crossed.
> 
> Anywho, I hope you enjoyed reading this!
> 
> Side note: I also have a tumblr where I post small updates on my stories (such as this one!), and little bits that never really turned into a fully fleshed fic! [Feel free to check it out!](https://caandleworks.tumblr.com/)


End file.
